


Bruh I wrote the thing now I have to think of a title too? Fuck you

by Indecision



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale needs... to get a clue really, Blood, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Gen, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Magic, Memes, Summoning Circles, Underage Drinking, and another glass of wine, these kids have big dick energy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indecision/pseuds/Indecision
Summary: The problem with summoning a demon is you never know what they were doing when you so rudely pulled them away.The problem with being a demon who's getting summoned is that it fucking hurts.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“No, you dolt, it’s oil on their feathers, it’s got to be. Not everything’s got to do with magic!”

Aziraphale humphed, “Well, science these days is so convoluted it can be hard to tell the difference I’d say.”

“Don’t know if I’d call it science so much as common sense.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “You’re being a bit of a heel today, aren’t you?”

Crowley paused in mouthing his ice cream cone to peer at the angel from the corner of his eye. “Mm,” he finally mumbled articulately, “sorry.” They walked on through their park, the same they’d walked through a thousand times before and hoped to enjoy a thousand times more, but whether Aziraphale had let the demon’s jabs slide or he simply had nothing more to say was uncertain. Crowley was anxiously attempting to stop the steady dribble of melting strawberry from reaching his hand, and had anyone stopped to inspect closer they’d undoubtedly be horrifically mesmerized by the complex and unnatural curls of his impossibly long, thin tongue. Aziraphale led on.

“You know dear boy, I’ve been thinking lately…” he began cautiously, “You and I have been spending so much time together these days, well, everyday actually, I suppose, ah, that really we spend more time together than apart.” He wrought his hands absentmindedly. “And I’m delighted truly!” He added quickly, turning his head to Crowley without looking at him. “It makes me think is all, of how silly it seems, for either of us to go back to our respective homes, you know…” Crowley remained silent. Aziraphale pushed on. “That maybe, you know, for simplicity’s sake, it would be easier to just… stay? In one. Home that is. That we stay, in one home, together, for convenience.” Crowley again said nothing. “And of course it’s nothing more than a notion, a passing thought really, just thinking aloud.” Aziraphale continued walking without breaking stride, Crowley trailing somewhere behind him. “Just… You know…” He tapered off quietly. “WELL DO SAY SOMETHING DEAR BOY.” He cried spinning on his heel. “…Dear boy?”

Aziraphale scanned the path they’d walked and saw no sign of the lanky humanoid he’d started out with. All he noted was a half eaten ice cream cone splattered in the middle of the walkway about thirty feet back, melting lazily in the late afternoon sun.

 

 

Crowley hissed and held his palms to his forehead, he crouched and rubbed the heels of his hands against his temples, trying to rub out the lingering, throbbing static in his brain. Having your corporeal body ripped from its location in space would give anyone a pounding migraine. He felt eyes on his back. He could feel the presence of others in the room as he covertly took stock of his surroundings. He was inside. It was a dark, open space, lit with candles. He suppressed a groan. Tapestries of all kinds plastered the walls, depicting various religious symbols and deities. Goat headed men, naked women with horns, pentagrams and the like all littered every inch of the concrete room. _Must be a basement_. He did notice with some humor a very out of place crucifix hanging in the corner on the far wall. _Covering all the bases, are we?_ Slowly and all too silently he began to draw himself up to full height. There was a shuffling behind him and he could tell the presences behind him had taken several steps back. He gathered there were three of them, and he could sense their trepidation. Slowly, he leaned his head to the left, cracking his neck, then to the right, the crunching of bone reverberating in the dead silence. He rolled his shoulders and smoothly craned to look over his shoulder at the three. _Teenagers._ He wanted to sneer. Instead he turned fully around, his movements languid and serpentine. He waited.

The silence in the room was deafening to the point that Crowley’s ears were nearly ringing. The candles flickered unbothered by the tension casting shadows all around and obscuring the demon’s face. From Crowley’s perspective, there was a girl on the left. She had smooth dark skin with long black hair done up in braided pigtail buns. The boy in the middle was blond and tall, of average build and the barest of stubble visible in the darkness. The boy on the right was shorter than the blond, but broader, with dark skin and short curly hair. He wore a letterman’s jacket that looked like it had seen better days. None of them looked older than 20, all of them wore black, and all of them looked afraid. It was the blond that spoke first.

“Uh, entity,” he began uncertainly, “we call upon you-“

“Brad oh my god what are you doing!” The girl whined clearly out of her wits. “This wasn’t supposed to work.” She pleaded to him in a hushed tone, her eyes wild. The boys were just as unsettled, and all three of them looked ready to bolt.

“But it did so what else do I fucking do?” Brad whispered back to her. His eyes never left Crowley, who waited all too patiently, standing relaxed where he’d been conjured with one hand in his pocket. This happened to demons every so often, and depending on whether he’d been doing something important beforehand, say, taking a bath perhaps, his annoyance level varied. Sometimes, scaring the legitimate piss out of teenagers could be good fun. Other times, it was an obnoxious interruption in a very potentially important conversation. What had Aziraphale been thinking about? He hadn’t heard before he’d been so rudely pulled away. Brad tried to speak again.

“Entity.” He spoke with more conviction, “We welcome you to the mortal plane.” Silence. “Uh, what- what do we call you, dark one?” Crowley pondered for a moment, deciding how he wanted to play his cards before speaking.

“You know, there are better, more polite ways to call upon my kind.” He scanned their faces and shoved both hands in his pockets. “You could’ve signaled me, emailed me even, left me a voicemail, but oh no, you had to go that extra mile and rip me straight out of London.” He remarked and took a step to the left. Six eyes followed him as he began to pace. “Where even am I, anyway?”

“… Sheffield.” The letterman answered.

“Sheffield? Bah, no wondering you’re summoning demons in your spare time.” Crowley muttered under his breath, “Bet you lot-“ Crowley stopped suddenly, he’d only taken a few steps before he felt something… burn. An intense heat radiating from directly in front of him, though nothing was there. Despite the warmth in front of him an icy chill ran down his spine and he looked to the floor. There, in dark red smudges, an outline had been drawn on the floor. It was circular, about 15 feet in diameter, running all around him, and he knew the symbol well. He looked at the three again, incredulous. Now that he was looking for it, he noted the blond’s hand was wrapped with bandages.

Crowley tutted in mock disappointment. “Oh boy, you kids are gonna be sorely disappointed.” He looked at the blood on the floor encircling him. “Hmm… Yeah okay, okay I see what you’re trying to do at least, A for effort and all that, right?” The three stared at him. “But what happens when, say, an earthquake suddenly hits, or a storm cloud appears where your ceiling used to be, or the house burns down and now the sigil is either cracked, washed away, or charred into oblivion, respectively? Nobody ever thinks of these things.” He waved his hand flippantly to emphasize. He shook his head as the earth beneath them began to tremble.

It started as hardly noticeable vibrations, growing to small tremors until violent, rocking waves rolled through the floor. The humans tried to hold their ground, crouching down to desperately maintain their balance, but the swells rolling through the floor were so great they were thrown easily from their feet, crying out as they sprawled across the hard cement. They lay hunkered on the floor as the demon stood unperturbed in his confine. Suddenly, a large crack shattered through the concrete wall to Crowley’s left. He didn’t look up. The crack lurched its way down, spreading to the floor and zigzagging violently from one side of the room to the other, splitting the sigil raggedly down the middle. “There we are.” Crowley smiled as the heat before him dissipated and he walked freely forward. The tremors subsided instantly. As he stepped over the broken circle the floor swelled again, shrinking back towards the middle of the room with an earsplitting grating as the concrete stitched itself back together. And then it was over, and the space looked untouched as it had before. Not a single item on any of the numerous shelves lining the room had fallen, or even looked so much as disturbed. The candles burned on. “Don’t like to do that too often, folks downstairs start taking notice too much.” The demon continued. Slowly, the three teens rose to their feet, the anxiety clear on their faces. “Now then,” Crowley pulled his sunglasses down just enough to peer over the rims and could hear the audible catching of breath from the humans as they met his eyes, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

 

“So, once more, for clarity’s sake, you thought you could summon, not just any demon, but _the_ Serpent of Eden, confine it to a blood circle, and, what? What was the endgame here, honestly?” Crowley looked up to the ceiling for a response from any of them. The boys didn’t seem very talkative, and the girl just wept silently to herself. They were all flattened to the ceiling, suspended with backs pressed to the plaster and arms spread wide by an unseen force. “Oh, come off it then, eh?” He said to the girl. “I’m not into killing kids, okay? You’re not going to die so turn off the water works? Please?” The girl sniffled and tried to collect herself. “You there, Blondie.” Crowley turned on the one called Brad. “Tell me, what’d you stand to gain from all this?”

“…It was just a ritual.” He insisted. He had a glassy eyed thousand yard stare and his tone was defeated. “Nothing was really supposed to happen…”

“So you’re praying to demons, sacrificing goats and the like because, what, that’s just what kids do these days? I guess times really don’t change after all.” He turned his back on the boy and strode around the room, looking at the images painted on the walls and the various tapestries strewn about. “Not to my taste, but to each their own I suppose. So tell me, what was this ritual supposed to do then?” He was looking at Letterman this time.

“It was just a prayer circle type deal, offer blood and devotion to the dark forces.”

“‘ _The dark forces’ oooooo,”_ Crowley jazz handed at the phrase, “dark forces, I’m so sure. So what,” he continues picking up a decidedly too-white-to-be-real cat skull from the coffee table, “now that you’ve got your ‘dark forces’ standing right in front of you, all you can do is cower? So much for devotion then.”

“No!” Brad started, “We- We’re still devoted, really, our allegiance is yours!” Crowley had taken a bite from an apple on one of the many shelves, only to open his mouth in silent horror and let the bite of waxen fruit fall from his tongue to the floor. He replaced the apple back on the shelf.

“Great, glad to hear it.” Crowley replied reading the spines of the many leather bound books on the next shelf. He wondered if Aziraphale had all these already.

“Uh, Great Serpent of Eden? Sir? Could we come down now-“ Crowley had already waved him off and suddenly the three were falling through dead air, landing hard on the flooring below with three definitive thunks.

“So you pray to demons and then what? Obviously you weren’t expecting one to actually show up, so not only do you not know shit about the spells you’re casting, but you don’t even believe in them to begin with. What do you get in return for this ‘devotion’ to beings that you don’t even believe exist?” Crowley questioned to the room at large, his back still to the three. “I’m not a genie, you won’t get wishes from me.” He pulled a massive tomb from the bookshelf and balanced it open on one hand to idly flip through pages with the other. “And I can tell you right now no one in Hell cares about your ‘ _allegiance._ ’”

“…What’s it like?” The girl asked suddenly. She’d managed to stifle her sniffles and was sitting crosslegged on the floor rubbing her elbow soothingly.

Crowley looked up from the book to meet her eye. “What?”

“Hell.” She repeated, “What’s it like?” The boys were sitting on the floor as well and had turned to look at her while she spoke, and now turned to Crowley expectantly. Crowley puffed out his cheeks as he thought.

“It’s a lot more paperwork these days than I care to admit, try and avoid the place for the most part really.” He turned the page. “But I suppose it’s about what you’d expect. Lots of fire here, rotting flesh there.”

“You live there then? That’s your home? You actually _live_ in _Hell?_ ”

Home. Crowley didn’t know quite how to respond to that. He had an apartment, of course, but it didn’t feel like much of a home. “No,” he finally said. “I may be from there, and it may be where I inevitably return, but it’s not my home, and no I don’t live there.”

“You don’t have to stay there? I thought demons were trapped in hell, that them getting out was like a big deal.” Letterman interjected. Crowley sighed again.

“It’s… complicated. You might consider me a… field agent of sorts.” He closed the book and stuck it under his arm. He’d just have to see for himself if his angel already had a copy.

“So Serpent of Eden-“

“Crowley.”

“Sorry?”

“Just Crowley is fine.” The demon corrected admiring another tapestry.

“Crowley, sir,” Brad amended and Crowley sighed at the honorific, “I don’t mean to be rude, but… you’re not, I mean to say, I would have thought… You’re not really what we expected. As a demon that is.” Crowley tore his gaze from the elegant depiction of a women with a knife in hand, chest slit open from sternum to navel, and looked at the blond impassively. “I guess I wonder, are all demons like this? Like you?” Crowley’s lip twitched a bit at that.

“Hmm.” He smiled beside himself. “No. I suppose not.”

 

 

Aziraphale was not panicking, had no right to panic, and was most certainly not the least bit inclined to start immediately panicking. Crowley had up and disappeared on him well over half an hour ago. 36 minutes and twelve seconds by Aziraphale’s count. And not even a text.

 

 

“Your mobile service really blows out here, y’know that?” Crowley reprimanded raising his phone in the air. “Can’t even get a text through.”

“Basement.” Was all Letterman replied. He’d since introduced himself as James. The girl, dubbed Monique, still sat crosslegged on the floor next to him. Brad leaned against the wall to Crowley’s right with his arms crossed and his expression stern.

“Okay, so Hell’s real, that means Heaven is too. So, like, who goes where? You really go to Hell if you’re not in church every Sunday?”

“Pfft~ Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Crowley scoffed.

“So what sends a person to Hell?” Monique quipped.

“Well, it’s all on a case by case basis of course, but the 7 big ones are still pretty hard and true. Don’t kill people out of anger. Don’t kill people out of jealousy. Don’t kill people over money. Mostly just try not to kill people and you’ll be fine.”

“What about Heaven?” James countered.

“What about it.” Crowley replied in a bored tone. His eyes were still on his phone.

“Have you ever seen it?” Brad continued.

“If there are demons, then there are angels too, right?” Monique surmised.

Crowley rolled his head back in exasperation and groaned. He flung his arms wide and gawked at them all. “What is this suddenly, 20 questions!?” Monique winced and picked at her nails in her lap.

“Sorry.” She said. Crowley pursed his lips and sighed again.

“Yeah, I’ve seen Heaven and yes there are angels.” He relented turning back to examine the overflowing shelves.

“Woah… What’re they like?” Brad wondered aloud.

“Toolbags.” Crowley sneered.

“Obviously a demon would say that. Not very objective.” Said James. Crowley grimaced.

“Well, obviously they’re not all tools. Just the vast, vast majority of them.”

“Suppose you probably don’t get the chance to have many heart to hearts with their lot.” James chuckled to himself and the other two grinned. “Do you fight them then? When you see them, is it like a fight to the death type thing? Just pop off on sight?” Crowley had turned his back on them again and was pawing his way through another shelf of occultism books. A steady stack of them was accumulating under his arm.

“Not when I can help it.” He muttered.

“Isn’t that what demons do? Fight angels and all that?” Brad said.

“Not always.”

“What’s that mean?”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses but still didn’t face the trio. “It means maybe not all angels are worth killing.” _Maybe some are even worth dying for,_ he thought before he could stop himself. He blanched at the concept and it left a foul taste in his mouth. _Not going there._

“Huh.” Monique interrupted his thoughts. “So… You see an angel on the street and you just… nod at it and keep walking?”

“You say it like it’s a common occurrence, it doesn’t happen very often okay?”

“When was the last time you actually saw one?”

“Uh,” Crowley glanced at his watch, “‘bout half an hour ago now.” The three didn’t seem to have much to say to that. Crowley shoved another book under his arm.

“I thought you just said it wasn’t that common.” James accused.

“This angel doesn’t count. He’s different.” He explained as he crouched to read the book spines on the bottom shelf.

“What’s so special about him?” Monique questioned.

Phew. For whatever reason that question hit Crowley like a fly swatter to the face. What was so special about Aziraphale? Where did he even start? And how would one even put into words a feeling so abstract? He could prattle on for the rest of the century about his angel’s quirks and charms and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles that particular smile and Crowley still wouldn’t be able to explain an ounce of the feeling Aziraphale instilled within him.

“He’s…just…different.” Crowley articulated carefully.

“I’ll be damned,” James smiled, “an angel and a demon. Sounds like a sitcom waiting to happen.” Brad sniggered.

“Don’t get any ideas, it’s not like that. We’re friends.” Crowley stated clearly with a glare over his shoulder.

Monique mumbled something into the hand her chin rested on. Crowley glared at her too and let out a low, nearly inaudible hiss. “It is pretty iconic though, isn’t it? Angel and demon, light and dark, Heaven and Hell.”

“Yes, yes I’m aware of our dichotomy.” Crowley had gone back to the shelves again.

“Good and evil.” Brad completed.

“Are you _quite_ finished?” Crowley glowered.

“Quite.”

“Good.” Crowley stood up and patted the books under his arm. “Taking these.” He said.

“W- hold on, wait wait wait.” Brad startled and quickly stood in his path. He was young, but tall for his age, and looked Crowley in the eye. Or rather, in the sunglasses. “You’re not leaving yet are you?”

“Oh yeah, sure am. No need to stay here and get grilled by a bunch of teenagers.” He stated plainly.

“No no no stay!” Brad pleaded. “I mean, sir.” He added respectfully. Crowley shifted the books to his other arm impatiently. “I feel like we have a lot more to talk about.”

“Children, the finest wine in France couldn’t keep me here if I didn’t want to be.”

“My mum has wine!” Monique suddenly cried raising her hand high. “She used to be a sommelier!” Crowley’s head snapped to her like he’d taken a roundhouse to the side of the face. His disbelief was plain, and the subtle shake of his head and confused blinks would’ve put the “White Guy Blinking” meme to shame. “Stay here!” Monique commanded as she scrambled up from the floor and dashed to the basement stairs. She was gone in a moment, leaving Crowley standing utterly perplexed. He looked back and forth between the remaining boys.

“Who the fuck in London just _happens_ to be a sommelier?” He asked airily.

 

The door to the basement hadn’t been shut a full 90 seconds before a heavy black combat boot kicked it open again and Monique jostled her way down the stairs with an array of bottles in her arms. Crowley eyed her warily.

“So, uh I didn’t know if you had a preference-“

“Everybody has a preference.” He jabbed.

“Right, of course, so I just brought a little of everything I guess, um, this one’s a rosé, ah this one a ’49, oh oh this one is one of Mum’s favorites.” She handed off bottles to the demon as she spoke, and combined with the books already stowed under his left arm, he was comically overburdened, clutching the bottles to his chest while squeezing the books tightly to his side. He withheld the urge to roll his eyes at the girl’s enthusiasm and opened his arms, letting his cache hang suspended in the air. Monique’s rambling stopped instantly as she looked on incredulously. The books drifted into a neat stack on the coffee table while the wine bottles formed a semi circle around him. He inspected the bottles closely until the one right of center caught his eye. He squinted suspiciously.

“Oh really?” He mumbled to nobody in particular. He took off and pocketed his sunglasses and plucked the bottle from the air, the others floating off to find their place alongside the stack of books. He read the faded label again and glanced at Monique from the corner of his eye. She looked small then as she met his eyes. She wrought her hands together, waiting for approval. Crowley ran a finger up along the neck of the bottle and the cork followed suit with an audible pop as it shot from the mouth. There was suddenly a glass in his hand as he poured the red and brought the glass to his lips, savoring the scent. He drank, and seemed thoughtful for a moment. Then, a grin split wide across his face and he hummed approvingly. “Children,” he spoke cheerfully, “what would you like to talk about?”

 

 

Aziraphale humphed. This was truly ridiculous. Crowley was an individual, with his own life to lead. He had no obligation to inform Aziraphale of his location every minute of every day. They’d gone centuries before without even a word to each other. But, then again, that had been a long time ago. Things were different now. They had grown, _progressed_ together.And these days it was unlike the pair to go without communication for more than a day or two, and especially not under these strange, abrupt circumstances. The angel had finally caved and sent Crowley a text, stating only that he’d enjoyed their walk in the park earlier and hoped they could do it again soon, but he’d gotten no response. He’d hoped to God and back that his living arrangement proposal hadn’t scared him off, but the not knowing for certain was eating him alive. He had nothing to do but read. He sipped cocoa as he waited.

 

 

“AND THEN, he turns to me and says, he says, ‘You go too fahst for me, Crowley.’ Like what does that even mean? Like literally I drive too fast? Because yeah maybe but I mean it’s not like you’ll die or whatever but otherwise… or are you talking about in general like I’m moving too fast with like the trying to be close to you and the lunch dates and, but, you were the one that wanted the bloody oysters, mate! Like what do you want me to say?” Crowley had started to slur a bit, and his voice over of Aziraphale was highly exaggerated, but he wasn’t finished. “I’m moving too fast, _I’m_ moving too fast, unbelievable, _six millennia_ and I’m moving too fast, unbelievable.” Crowley was still clinging to his dignity by his fingernails and continued to refill his glass with wine rather than pull straight from the bottle as he truly wanted. He seemed to be pouring constantly, but the bottle never showed signs of emptying. He had replaced his sunglasses.

“He’z just scared man, it’s OBVIOUS he wants to, I dunno, move forward or whatever he’s just nervous y’know?” Monique had a glass in her own hand and a new stain on her shirt.

“Yeah,” James agreed, “sounds like he’s just, like, afraid of things changing between you two knowutamsayin?” He slurred. His approach was a bit more his age, having opted for a bottle over a glass, as had Brad. “Like, he don’t know how good it could be, he just knows he’s scared to lose what he got, see wutamsayin?”

Crowley groaned and let his head loll back. They were all sitting on the floor in a lazy circle with Brad to Crowley’s left and James to his right. Monique half lay on her side across from him, supporting herself with an elbow and drinking her heart out.

“You gotta be straight with em man, or yur jus spinnin’ yur wheels.” Brad advised. “You gotta say, ‘this is wut I think, and this is wut I want, and this is wut should happun.” Crowley said nothing but took a swig straight from his bottle.

“Thiz’s ridiculous, you’re all ridiculous, I dun even know why I’m still talking to you.” Crowley spoke with his forehead touching the mouth of his bottle.

“No, really!” Monique pressed. “Crowley, look, he likes you.”

“He’s an angel, he likes everyone.”

“No, you fucking dummy, he LIKES you. Like, I’ve never even met him and I can tell he likes you. But MORE IMPORTANT,” she all but yelled, “YOU like HIM. So you should tell him that.” The boys nodded silently in agreement and suddenly all eyes were on Crowley. He felt a bit warm and knew better than to blame it on the wine.

“I did not say that.” He said pointedly. “I never said that. Nor anything resembling it.”

James tsked. “Don’t think you needed to, mate.” He took a drink while holding Crowley’s gaze. Crowley looked back at Monique who also drank without looking away. Crowley scoffed.

“So what, what-what,” he sputtered, “I’m just supposed to what? Stroll on up to ‘im n sweep him off his feet? Say ‘Ohh, by the way, I’ve been in love with you for longer than the bloody Catholic Church has been standing, what’s say we get married? We’ll have a cutesy little human ceremony, it’ll be fun! Hope I’m not going too fassst for you!’” Crowley let slip a hiss and his tongue flicked across his lips. No one spoke for a moment.

“…Sounds like a better plan than the one you’ve got.” Brad said.

“Plan? What plan, there is no plan.” Crowley snapped.

“‘Xactly.” James nodded.

“Sayin’ somethin’ clumsily is better than sayin’ nothin.” Monique added. Crowley reflected on that a moment.

“I know what your problem is, my man.” James started and slapped a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley raised an eyebrow at it but James took no notice. “Yur worrying too much ‘bout lookin’ cool.” He explained with a steady regard. “You gotta focus… on what needs to be said. Not… how it might look when you say it. Don’t think about yur image so much, y’hear?” James seemed to be struggling to find coherent words, but he seemed satisfied that he got his point across. Crowley muttered something about looking cool and took another long drink.

“I’m not trying to look cool. ‘Specially not to him. Knows me better than anyone else, no sense in tryin’ to pretend around him. He knows what I am.” Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment. “And I’m a demon. And he’s an angel. And that’s really all the reason I should need to leave him alone.” He turned to look at James seriously then. “What if something happened to him because of me? What if my evil… permeated him?” Crowley’s words were becoming less slurred as he went on, his tone falling to barely more than a whisper. “What if he fell?” That put a hush over the room.

“I suppose that’s up to him then, init?” Monique finally said under her breath. Crowley looked up at her, startled.

“What?”

“You tell him how you feel. And he decides if you’re worth falling for.”

Crowley was a serpent at heart, cold-blooded in the most literal sense, but in all his years of a very long, cruel existence, no words had ever instilled such an aching, brutal chill in his bones.

“That can’t happen.” He whispered, perhaps to himself.

“S’not certain that it will, right? Just a small chance maybe?” Brad reminded.

“That’s still too much.”

“But it’s _love_.” Monique insisted. “How could love make an angel fall?”

“Mhm, maybe you’re lookin’ at this the wrong way, man, maybe you shouldn’t be so concerned with yur evil rubbing off on ‘im, but on his good rubbin’ off on you.” Crowley cocked his head to the side and looked at James bewildered. “Maybe you won’t make him fall. Maybe he’ll make you rise.”

Crowley couldn’t help it then. He howled. A hearty, unhindered guffaw that wracked his soul. He laughed and laughed until he was clutching his stomach in stitches and had to wipe a tear from under the rim of his glasses. “Oh Satan help me.” He chuckled, settling down some. “Oh child,” he grinned, “I’ve had a very long existence. And I’ve done a great many things.” The demon gazed out lazily over the rims of his glasses. He still had the ghost of a smile etched across his features, but his stare pierced James to the core. “There is no redemption arc for me.”

James looked solemn, but pressed on. “Then I guess you’ve got nothin’ left to lose.” He did not break away from the demon’s stare.

A sudden trill made all of them jump at the intrusion, but Crowley recovered quickly and fished his mobile from his breast pocket.

“Oh, I have bars…” He exclaimed a bit bemused as the trill sang on. A smile tugged on his lips as he read the name on the screen. He pressed accept.

“Oh, Crowley!” He’d barely said the word “Angel” before Aziraphale had launched into his rambling. “Ah, I was just calling to say how I’d enjoyed our walk today. Just wanted to check in, you’d left in such a hurry, wanted to make sure you were all right…” Crowley felt an easy smile settle on his face. “I hope I didn’t say anything too presumptuous earlier, I shouldn’t have made assumptions like that, I do hope you’ll forgive my transgression, dear.”

“Angel, what’re you talking about?”

“Ah, my proposal earlier? Were you… had you left already?”

“Proposal? What proposal?” There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line.

“No no, it’s nothing darling, just rambling again-“

“What proposal?” Crowley insisted.

“…Well before, I’d assumed you’d left so abruptly because my suggestion of moving in together had been so, well, unwelcome.” Now Crowley’s end of the line was silent.

“Crowley dear? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Angel.”

“…Had you left before you’d heard that bit?”

“I had. I’ve been…a bit tied up. But I’m coming home now.” Crowley stood up from the floor and the trio watched him with bated breath. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Oh, lovely! I’ll see you soon then.” Then the line went dead with a click.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys (and Monique) Are Back In Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** I DID NOT INTEND FOR THIS TO BE MULTIPLE CHAPTERS. This was written purely for the sake of... I don't know what. I feel like the content of the previous chapter was sufficient and the ending adequate to the point that a second chapter would be unnecessary, and yet here we are. So you can take it as a one shot if you like, or consider the two chapters as a whole. Whichever you prefer, fuck me in the actual ass either way because these two have effectively ruined my life.

 

 

Crowley looked surprisingly unbothered as he lowered the phone from his ear. From a distance he seemed unperturbed, but he held his mouth in a subtle, unusual way, as if he were gnawing lightly on the corner of his lip, that gave away his fire. He was electric, and the children could feel the shift. The air was tense, but unlike the icy chill Crowley had initially instilled in the room upon his entrance, it crackled with static. With power. The trio couldn’t have decided which version came across as the more dangerous.

“Children.” He addressed steadily. The three looked at him expectantly and Monique’s adrenalized smile was as blinding as it was aggravating.

“Will we see you again?” Brad cut in. Crowley looked him over before cracking a devilish smirk.

“You should hope not.”

“Good luck, Crowley.” Monique swayed a bit as she stood, but drew herself up nonetheless. Crowley breathed a charmed sigh and smiled lightly to her, and whether she stepped to him for a hug or simply couldn’t keep her drunken balance any longer, neither could say. Or rather, neither would admit, but as Crowley stiffened and she nestled her face to his chest, he brought a hand to rest on her back regardless. He then fisted the back of her collar and pulled her from his person. And just like that, he was gone.

The three stood there in silence, contemplating the gravity of the evening's events. James looked down at his hands and at the two bottles between them. The left one he’d been nursing all evening and was nearly empty. The sudden unfamiliar one in his right, which had undoubtably been the one the demon had been pounding as if it were water to a fish, was full to the brim. Monique noted James’s sudden fascination and lifted the demon’s bottle gently from his hands. Brad had been staring wordlessly at the floor, fisting his own bottle tightly. He breathed slow and deep, as if all at once exhausted, and set the bottle on the coffee table. His gaze on the table lingered. Where once had sat a hefty stack of books, nothing remained but a single, large, shimmering black feather.

 

 

“Angel? Angel, where are you?” Crowley called as he crossed the threshold of the bookshop. Crowley was psyched up and more high strung than he’d ever felt in the entirety of his existence. He was going through with this. He’d walk up to Aziraphale, grasp his face in his hands, and kiss him. He’d thought about it the whole 3 nanosecond ride over. And it would be _romantic_ and _reciprocated_ and _cool_ , he told himself. And then… well, the rest would fall into place.

“Coming!” Came a cry from the far room. Crowley marched purposefully as if there were anger in his stride and nearly smashed straight into the angel as he stepped through the doorway. Aziraphale’s surprise subsided instantly and he beamed at the demon. Relief shone though his smile like rays of sunlight through cloud cover. He wore his pristine white gloves and his spectacles hung low on his nose.

It always softened Crowley to see his angel with his glasses, not because of any particular aesthetic reason, but because he knew Aziraphale didn’t need them. As an angel and having perfect eyesight, he wore them only when he was feeling particularly studious, Crowley observed. They were worn to settle Aziraphale into the headspace of reading and the feeling of being an academic. It was silly and subtle, but it was one of many things that set this angel apart from the rest and made him just a bit different. Crowley wouldn’t have been able to put it into words had you asked him, but it just made the angel so much more… real. Much more human, with their quirks and preferences and choices to be made, unlike the stone-set tendencies of the rest of the entities of the angelic-stock. Aziraphale must have noticed just how much he was smiling, as he tried to take on a more neutral presentation, but he couldn’t force down his glee enough to manage.

Crowley’s chest seized. That wasn’t part of the plan. He could only look at the angel, both of them unmoving in the doorway, and he hardly dared to draw breath. His face was smooth and calm, but tension was obvious just shy of the surface. The sunglasses made it difficult to tell, and anyone other than Aziraphale would have thought the demon was glaring, but he could see that underlying strain in Crowley plain as day.

“Goodness, what’s the matter?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows pinched and concern had leeched into his voice. He closed the meager gap between them raising his hands to reach for his friend before thinking better of it. “You look… upset.” There was a trace of Crowley’s reeling mind left to regret purging all the wine from his system.

“Nuh uh, not at all.” He denied. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to do dinner?” Crowley said slowly, stringing together words as they came to him and hoping they’d form a coherent sentence somewhere along the way.

“Oh, that does sound lovely, but dear do you have any idea what time it is? I do believe there’s not much open this hour.” The angel mused. Crowley glanced at the antique clock hanging above the desk. Its battery had died out years ago, but it read a quarter to three, and Crowley knew it to be correct. “I’ll tell you what though, I’ve actually been trying my hand at cooking pastries these days,” Aziraphale beamed excitedly, quite proud, “why don’t you give me a hand and I’ll whip something up?” That was another thing Crowley admired about him. Although the angel had the ability to miracle up almost anything his heavenly heart could desire, he appreciated the artistry in things and the uniqueness that creating something by hand provided. Crowley melted at him and smiling suddenly seemed the easiest thing in the world.

“Sure.” Was all he could seem to manage.

 

“One cup brown sugar.”

“How many fistfuls in a cup?”

“Cute.” Aziraphale chided lightly.

“Aren’t I though?” Crowley concurred scooping the sugar from a hideously ornate canister.

“You need to pack it into the cup firmly, for accuracy.” Aziraphale instructed. Crowley raised a brow at him but did as he was told before dumping the sugar wordlessly into the mixing bowl.

What was he doing? Crowley had had a plan. Granted not a particularly well thought out plan, but it’d only had one step and he’d still managed to botch it. _Kisss him,_ he hissed at himself. _Kiss. Him. Idiot. KISS HIM._

_“_ And then we fold like so.” Aziraphale interrupted and leaned across Crowley’s workspace, gently pulling the folds of dough over and around and over again. It was actually surprisingly inelegant, for an angel. Perhaps it was the awkward angle at which he tried to work, leaning over Crowley who had suddenly decided to live the rest of his life as an immovable statue, that made the intertwining of the dough strands so difficult.

“Oh, damn,” he huffed, “here, you try won’t you?” Crowley made no move to touch the pastry. He only lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale’s and stared, his eyes unreadable behind that dark glass.

“Aziraphale…” He started questioningly. The angel cocked his head to the side with a furrowed brow.

“Yes?”

Crowley cursed himself. He’d changed the flow of the room now. The energy had shifted. Any longer a silence would give Aziraphale cause for concern. He had to say something.

_Focus on what needs to be said,_ he recalled, _not how it might look when you say it._

Crowley turned toward Aziraphale to face him fully, his right hand hanging limp at his side while his left trailed dangerously close on the counter to where Aziraphale’s own were clasped politely.

“I have to tell you something.” He told the angel. His voice was soft, but not weak. It came across as much more sure of itself than it truly was. Aziraphale couldn’t seem to break his gaze, and the demon noted with interest that he swallowed with difficulty. He pushed on. “I’ve had to tell you something for six thousand years.”

 

 

 

“Don’t see what the big deal is about a book.”

“Have you ever seen this one anywhere else?”

“What’s your point?”

“That it’s _rare,_ prick.

“Hey, come on.” Brad gave Monique an indignant look.

“This’s gotta be the place.” James interjected.

The three of them stood amidst the bustling London pedestrians and looked out across the way to the old bookstore. It looked ancient, and blended well into the crowded street corner. It was dark and a bit unkempt, and had Google Maps not told them specifically where it was, the trios’ eyes, and the rest of the world, would have passed over it. The sign, reading “A.Z. FELL AND Co,” was faded and dim.

“Alright then.” James led them across the street. The sign said open, so he pushed through the door to find the inside slightly more inviting than the out. It was warm, and though a bit busy and overcrowded, it held a certain coziness. The little bell overhead chimed as the last of them stepped through and a prim looking man in a champagne colored sweater vest and slacks peeked from behind a far shelf.

“Good evening.” He said with a smile so thin it looked fragile. The trio greeted him with various levels of enthusiasm.

“I’m looking for something in particular.” Monique addressed him before he was able to slip back behind his shelf. The man’s thin smile grew thinner but he stepped toward her regardless to present himself properly. As she described her book the man’s false smile receded, until he was positively frowning at her.

“That book is not easy to come by.” He told her as if in warning.

“But you do know of it?” She pressed.

“I do.” He replied regrettably.

“…Do you…do you have it or…?” Monique trailed. The round faced man tried to refrain from pursing his lips, but only managed to look as though he were pouting all the more. He turned from her and flitted to the back room. The two boys had since broken off and were wandering the darker recesses of the shop, leaving the girl to stand and wait, hoping the man hadn’t just up and left. He returned in the doorway a moment later and held a familiar leather bound book in both hands. He looked at her warily and strode behind the till to place the book on the counter. Monique approached him with equal suspicion.

“This one came in not even a month ago.” Monique’s eyes jerked from the book to gawk at him.

“What?” She stated dumbly.

“But, I’m afraid, a book this hard to find comes at a significant price.”

“How much?” She tested.

“£ 2,000.” He replied flatly. The girl’s breath caught.

“That’s ridiculous, this book was a gift from my grandmother, there’s no way she would’ve bought a book at that price.” The man looked at her curiously.

“Sorry, but the price is firm.” He assured her.

“A gift from a lover after all, practically pricelesss.” Came a hiss from far too near behind her. She whirled instinctively and found Crowley standing so close she had almost hit him in her sudden twirl. His expression was not friendly.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“You know this girl?” The blond man asked befuddled.

“No.” He replied without taking his eyes off her.

“Crowley!?” Brad barked as he rounded a bookshelf.

“What? Shut up.” James emerged from the opposite side. “Holy shit.” He breathed laying eyes upon the demon.

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at the two and groaned. He pouted and stamped his foot a bit, indignant.

“Crowley, what in Heaven’s name is going on?” The shop-owner pleaded bewildered.

“Ahhhhh s’hard to explain, Angel.” Crowley felt defensive with all eyes on him and rounded the counter to lean into the other’s shoulder. “The girl’s mum is a _sommelier.”_ He explained to him in a staged whisper. The angel looked no less confused by this. The three funneled in toward the counter where Crowley casually slung an arm across the angel’s shoulder.

“Angel?” James picked up. “ _The_ angel?” Crowley opened his mouth to say anything, but nothing seemed to come to mind. He closed it again and shrugged. Aziraphale’s face was absolutely lost.

“Well it was nice of you all to drop by.” Crowley smiled at them conclusively. “Feel free not to anytime.” The trio was nonplussed. The boys had no words that felt worth speaking, but Monique had come for what she was owed.

“I want my book.” She stated clearly. Crowley frowned at her.

“Fuck off?” He told her just as plainly. Her request hit him oddly that he posed the statement in a questioning tone.

“It’s mine.” She insisted.

“And now it isn’t.” He replied.

“It’s stolen.” She pressed harder still.

“So what? I’m a _demon_.” Crowley reminded exasperatedly. Aziraphale turned to him then, his eyes serious.

“What?” He demanded.

“What?” Was Crowley’s reply.

“Crowley, did you give me a stolen book?” He warned. Crowley’s lips were parted slightly as he turned to look at the angel. Silence fell heavily between them.

“Stealing is such an ugly term,” he began and Aziraphale let out a frustrated groan, “I did not steal it.” He insisted. “I told her I was taking them, and then I did, AND she saw me do it.” He said hurriedly and pointing a finger in Monique’s direction.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale moaned and he hung his head tiredly. “Give the girl her book.” Crowley glared at him and the angel raised his eyes to look at him sternly. “Give her the book.” He ordered punctuating every word. Crowley scowled but eventually picked up the book and shoved it in Monique’s direction while needling her with a venomous glower. She took it from him with a quiet thank you to them both. Leaning to rest his elbows on the desk the demon let out a small sigh. With the altercation resolved the tension in the air evaporated as well and Brad let out an awkward chuckle.

“Man, what’re the odds, right?”

“One in a million.” Crowley spoke into his palm. Aziraphale had collected himself now that wrongs had been righted and bristled enthusiastically at company that wasn’t in his shop for the purpose of liberating any more books.

“Well.” He marveled. “Seems we have stories to tell. I’ll go fetch some tea!” He gleamed.

“Oh, angel no-“ Crowley began but Aziraphale had already gone, leaving him alone with the children. He took a redundant breath and looked over them skeptically. “Leave.” He told them.

“I’d like to stay.” James said simply.

“I don’t care.” Crowley rebutted.

“He’s making tea. Would be rude to leave now.” Brad concluded. Crowley hissed and all three winced as his thin forked tongue whipped violently through his now protruding fangs. Clinking could be heard from the back as the angel drew closer.

“Do. Not. Speak to him.” The demon threatened preemptively, and the teens’ collective bravery shrank a bit. Aziraphale rounded the corner through the doorway with a tea tray in hand. It was beautifully lined with a bowl of biscuits, a bowl of sugar, five ostentatious tea cups, and a matching teapot.

“Come, come!” he insisted ushering them into the back where they could sit properly. Entering the back room where both angel and demon knew only moments ago one would have found only more shelves, a small set of chairs and a table now held a comfortable leather sofa, a modest, short mahogany coffee table, and two large matching arm chairs. Crowley threw himself into a chair and draped his leg over one arm while Aziraphale placed the tray of goodies on the table before taking his seat in the chair beside him.

“There we are, and children,” Aziraphale’s tone took on a hint of regret and has he poured each of them a cup of tea, “I must extend my sincerest apologies for our little book mix up. Evidently, I’m sure you’re aware Crowley is not the most…savory of types.”

“You were savoring me just fine last night.” He grumbled lazily into his hand.

“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you just said, dear boy.” Aziraphale pressed on cheerfully despite a sudden vein in his jaw that threatened to burst. The trio across the table gave no indication of having heard the demon’s quip. Crowley took an extended teacup from the angel and sipped it sans sugar.

 

Aziraphale is, unsurprisingly, a wonderful host, and the children were charmed in spite of the demon’s unsung threats hanging overhead. He asked extensive questions about their schooling, what kinds of music teenagers listened to these days, and if they’d ever heard of a certain dance craze called the gavotte and would they be interested in starting a movement to bring it back? They in return asked a slew of questions regarding Heaven and Hell, but refrained from questions that treaded too close to personal territory, so long as the demon had them pinned beneath his venomous glare.

 

“Oh that is remarkable!” Aziraphale exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm. “You don’t see enough kids these days with an interest in herbalism, I actually have a modest collection of texts on the subject myself.” His smile had a tint of sinful pride to it while he pointed past James toward the door to the front.

“Really?” James turned round in his seat to follow Aziraphale’s gesture. “Do you mind?” He wondered leaning forward, looking to Aziraphale for permission.

“By all means!” The angel enthused rising to follow the young man. Crowley had taken to standing behind his chair and resting his elbows on the back with his chin in his hands. His eyes never left the angel as he stood and followed the boy from the sitting area. “Ah, young Bradley,” Aziraphale added, “I also happen to have in my possession a great deal of literature regarding musical theory. I do recall you mentioning your band’s need for new material, yes?” Brad stared up at the angel dumbly, a bit awestruck, and nodded several times. “Up you go then!” Aziraphale smiled cheerfully ushering the blond along. Crowley continued to look on wordlessly. Monique was also uncharacteristically quiet. Neither of them seemed inclined to break it.

With only the faint mumblings of the boys from the other room, the air in the back seemed to solidify. The demon gave no hint of noticing, but the girl’s mounting discomfort was palpable as he turned his vacant stare towards her, apathetic yet scrutinizing, all the while completely unreadable. He was used to making people uncomfortable. Or excessively comfortable, if he felt need be. This was not one of those times.

Monique was churning her thoughts with hasty desperation for a topic with which to approach the demon, if for no other reason than to put an end to the suffocatingly chilled air her own tension had produced. It was choking her, and made her swallow thickly. Crowley’s sunglass-shaded study of her very soul did not ease her state of mind.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here, of all places.” She tried. Crowley felt no need to reply. “…I, uh, I like him. He seems nice.” She continued stubbornly shooting a glance over her shoulder in reference to the other room. Almost as if relenting Crowley heaved a sigh and dropped his hands from his chin to let them drape over the front of the chair.

“Why are you still here?” He complained rubbing a finger to his temple. Monique had no response to that, but her expression was miffed.

“I’m glad you got over yourself enough to make a move.” She dared to say.

“I will literally eat you.” Crowley sassed back unperturbed. Monique pursed her lips, questioning where her potential devourer would draw the line. Although, if he hadn’t harmed her yet, she doubted he would make good on his threats, let alone in front of his new angelic boyfriend.

“So how’d it go?” She ignored him. “Did you get down on one knee, ask him to run off into the sunset and all that?” Crowley repressed the idea of telling her he’d already asked Aziraphale to run away with him once before to no avail and instead decided to snort a laugh at her.

“Hilarious.” He said and left it at that.

“So you haven’t married him yet?” Monique continued, “You act like you’ve been married for decades.” She prodded. “But you are dating, though?” Crowley didn’t feel like dignifying that, but nodded nonchalantly anyway with a shrug of one shoulder.

“I’d almost blissfully forgotten how much you chatter.” Crowley picked absently at a loose thread on the arm of the chair and Monique rolled her eyes.

“I still can’t believe you’re here. That we’re here. That of all the bookshops in London, this is the one run by an _actual_ angel, and the angel’s boyfriend is a demon I’d already met. Really, I feel like it’s all just a really crazy dream.”

“Do us all a favor and wake up already.” Crowley mumbled mostly to himself. “You were pushing your luck the first time you tried to kidnap me. Now you’re just asking to get your bones digested.” Monique suppressed a shiver.

“Kidnap is such an ugly word…” She quoted him as a taunt but her smile revealed discomfort. “But really. Aziraphale. I’m glad things worked out. And that we were right,” she simpered a bit smugly, “he obviously liked you, too.”

“I hate you so much.” Crowley sighed tiredly slouching to rest his chin on the back of the chair, his arms still dangling limply over it.

“C’mon, I’m dying to know.”

“Then die?”

“Please?”

“I have absolutely nothing to say to you.” Monique crossed her arms and sat back against the fine leather of the couch. They were at an impasse, Monique unwilling to let the conversation die but unsure how to continue it, and Crowley resistant to respond to any more prodding questions. Monique let the silence settle around them once more and allowed them both to collect their respective thoughts.

“I got grounded you know.” Crowley blew air sharply from his nose and turned back to her with a smirk.

“What?”

“My mum grounded me for a full year after she found out we’d drank all that wine. I couldn’t exactly pin it all on the Serpent of Eden. ‘No Mum, it wasn’t us!’” She put her hands up in mock surrender. “‘It was the demon we summoned! No we don’t have proof, he had to go propose to his angel boyfriend so he stole Gram’s books and left.’” Crowley’s smile cracked into a full grin at that and he slithered around the side of his chair to sit, slinging one leg over an arm to lounge lazily. He chuckled.

“I replaced what I took.” He objected, then frowned. “Wine wise.” He amended. “The rest was all you.”

“Mm.” Monique admitted. “Still, a demon comes into your house and asks for wine, what do you do?”

“ _You_ summoned me to your house and _forced_ upon me wine, where have you been?”

“Semantics.” She dismissed with a disarmingly sweet smile.

“Unbelievable.”

“Suppose it doesn’t matter really. It was worth it in the end.” She looked to him, suddenly serious, though her faint smile lingered. “So long as true love got its happy ending, right?” If snakes could blush Crowley might have had a problem. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

“What is this, a therapy session?”

“I didn’t think it would be that hard a question.” She defended. Crowley blew a puff of air from his cheeks and threw her a bone.

“Of course I’m happy. I’m a demon after all, I always get what I want.” He stuck out a thin forked tongue at her and grinned through shining white fangs that should’ve been too long for his mouth. The poor girl suppressed another shiver.

“I only ask ‘cuz… well, I guess because I’m just happy for you. We’re not all lucky enough to find our perfect match, so I’m glad when I do see people who’ve made it work. Guess I’m still looking for mine.” She chuckled sheepishly, if not a bit dismal. Crowley crooked his head oddly to ponder her.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect match.” He corrected plainly, “People aren’t made for other people. You were made for yourself. And everyone you’ll ever be with were made for themselves.” Crowley looked as though he was chewing on the corner of his mouth again. “My situation is a bit… different, but as far as humans go, you’re not looking for a Prince Charming.” He paused a moment. “Or Princess Charming. Person Charming. Whatever. My point, being,” he raised a finger skyward before jabbing it in Monique’s direction, “you aren’t looking for perfection. You’re looking for a foundation, to grow your relationship on. Forests don’t just appear. They’re grown slowly, from a tiny seed. So stop searching for a full grown forest inside of people, and start paying attention to the open clearings where seeds have the potential to grow.”

Monique was stunned to silence for the umpteenth time that day. That was the longest she’d heard the demon speak since they’d met, and the sincerity with which he spoke had completely knocked the wind from her sails. She was at a loss.

“Darling?” Came a call from the front room. Crowley’s head turned and his brows shot up expectantly. When no one appeared in the doorway he called back, “Yes, Angel?”

“What was that song you mentioned the other day?” Crowley frowned.

“Which one?” He called back.

“The one with the disgraceful rebels, in the mud, you know the one!” Crowley’s eyebrows knit together as he contemplated.

“We Will Rock You?” He suggested.

“THAT’S the one!” Crowley heard through the boys’ hearty laughter. He chuckled himself and stood to follow the hysterics echoing through the doorway, where he paused to lean against the frame and watch his angel engage with the youths. He smiled beside himself and found Monique had made her way to observe the trio as well. The two stood together, the silence between them not uncomfortable, as it took on a new semblance of understanding, as if some common ground had been established. Monique looked up at the demon and, noting his contented countenance, felt her own features soften with a tentative peace. He looked so calm. So… without want. He was beautiful, and she envied him.

“This is it, isn’t it?” She confirmed aloud. Crowley looked down to cock an eyebrow at her. “ _This_ is your home.”

Even the glasses had trouble hiding the shock from Crowley’s expression then, and his eyebrows and parted lips betrayed his feeling as though he’d just been kicked in the chest by a horse. He recovered quickly, smoothing his expression, and turned his head back toward the three. He took in his angel speaking to the two boys with wild, enthusiastic gestures, and the light that radiated from his gentle smile was warm and welcoming even at a distance.

“Mm.” Crowley’s lip turned up slightly at the corner. “Home.”

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

The bell chimed and the door closed and the immortals stood in the bookshop, alone but together, as they seemed designed to be. Crowley let out a breath he felt he’d been withholding for hours and Aziraphale still had that pleasant smile charming his face.

“That was lovely! They were so polite! What gracious children...” He reflected to his partner who only grunted in response. “We should have them over for lunch sometime, at the very least another spot of tea.” Crowley’s face pinched as he looked at his angel with near disdain.

“Darling, dearest,” he began to explain, grasping Aziraphale's shoulders and giving them a firm but gentle squeeze, “there are over one hundred and three things I could think of for the two of us to do instead of entertain the underaged heathens that are stalking me.” He pushed his glasses up to rest on top of his head and looked deep into the angel’s eyes dreamily as he draped his languid arms over the other’s shoulders, locking his hands behind Aziraphale’s neck.

“Oh…” Was all he could faintly reply. Crowley’s golden eyes, usually so cold and unnerving, held Aziraphale’s gaze steadily and the angel could find nothing within them to fear, save for perhaps, the undiluted strength of the devotion that they laid bare to him. Aziraphale had never been loved so deeply, felt cared for so completely in all his heavenly days. The ferocity of his own dedication to the demon hit him hard and suddenly then, and he wanted to curse his sentimental disposition as he felt his smile tremble slightly. He let out an unsteady breath and closed his eyes, a bit overwhelmed at his own sudden swell of emotion, and rested his hands on Crowley’s slender hips and stood tall with his head raised high and his chin tucked low, willing Crowley to stoop low enough to touch his forehead to Aziraphale’s own. The demon obliged, and they stood like that for some time, swaying ever so gently, dancing to a music not of the spheres, but to a harmony all their own.

 

 

Notes: *The Music of the Spheres, also referred to as The Harmony of the Spheres, is the idea that the heavenly bodies, in their perfect proportions and balance, made indescribably beautiful yet inaudible music as they moved throughout the universe. It was said that only the angels themselves could hear the sweet sounds of the working cosmos. Following that concept is why one could theorize that our dumbass celestial entities, once in perfect synchronization and harmony themselves, would contribute to said music.

*As Crowley stood in the doorway watching Aziraphale talk to Brad and James, it made me think of that Dwight and Angela meme from The Office when Monique came to stand beside him, so I made this.

 


End file.
